


a lack of decorum.

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets. [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2859674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The days leading up to Christmas are one of Derek’s favorite times of the year. Not because of the festivities or the decorations or the food, all of which he considers to be excessive.  </p><p>No, the reason that Derek likes Christmas so much is because it's one of the few times a year that he actually gets to see Stiles.</p><p>Written for the Sterek Secret Santa Gift Exchange on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a lack of decorum.

**Author's Note:**

> written for the Sterek Secret Santa Gift Exchange, for tumblr user whowhatwhenwhereandwhynot. (:

The days leading up to Christmas are one of Derek’s favorite times of the year. Not because of the festivities or the decorations or the food, all of which he considers to be excessive; this year, there’s so much mistletoe scattered around the mansion that his eyes won’t stop watering and while he understands that his mother wants to impress the guests (both werewolves and otherwise), he really thinks that having the chef roast twenty whole pigs was completely unnecessary.

No, the reason that Derek likes Christmas so much is because it's one of the few times a year that he actually gets to see Stiles.

By Christmas Eve, the mansion is ringing with the sound of over a hundred guests; they’re mostly werewolves, royals from the other territories, but there are humans and emissaries mixed into the crowd as well. Many of them are well on the way to being completely inebriated due to the ridiculously potent, wolfsbane spiked vodka that has been flowing freely for the last few hours. Derek has a cup of the stuff as well, but he’s been nursing it all evening; he wants to be sober when Stiles arrives.

By the time ten o’clock comes around, Derek is starting to get antsy. Nearly ten years have passed since his mother appointed John Stilinski to the position of Deputy Warden of their territories, as a reward for saving her life in an incident that Derek only barely knows the details of. In that time, Stiles hasn’t missed a single Christmas. In the last text he’d sent Derek, he’d been on the way, but that had been over three hours ago. Suppose he got into an accident? Suppose something happened to his dad? Suppose-

Derek hears the massive front doors in the main entrance creak open just as one of his mother’s betas scurries to her shoulder.

“Ma’am, the Stilinski’s have _finally_ arrived.”

Derek doesn’t even take the time to growl at the beta for their undue tone. Instead, he jumps up from his chair, drops his glass of vodka in front of a minor prince from one of the Northern territories (who is already laughably sloshed) and practically shoves his way through the crowded dining room. The hallway leading to the front entrance is bottlenecked with people so he turns on his heel and cuts through a courtyard instead. He finally manages to reach his destination mere seconds behind his mother. She shares only a few words with John before she starts walking again, leading him back to the dining room and that’s when Stiles finally comes into view.

It’s only been a few months since Derek last saw him in person (aside from Skype calls) but it seems like he’s only gotten more gorgeous, a feat Derek didn’t believe to be possible. His shoulders have broadened out even further and his hair is slicked away from his forehead. Even from across the room, Derek can see how the light from the chandelier above is playing off of his amber eyes and the smattering of moles on his neck stand out against his flawless, perpetually pale skin.

And the _suit_. Derek can’t wait to tear it off of him.

Although there are people obviously trying to get his attention, Stiles is plainly ignoring them all. His head is swiveling back and forth, surveying the crowd and there’s no point in being modest about it; Derek knows exactly who Stiles is looking for and he’s not going to make him wait any longer. He pushes through a clump of emissaries, nods curtly at a few of his father’s distant relations and finally manages to wrap his hand around Stiles’ wrist. He gets him halfway across the room before Stiles finally notices that he’s there.

“Derek, I’m so sorry I didn’t answer you, my phone died and we got a flat tire and this night has just been ridiculous. Watch, now that I’m finally here, some hunters will show up and we’ll have to go deal with them.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Derek growls, spinning around and dropping his hands onto Stiles’ shoulders. “I don’t care if an entire damn war breaks out, you’re not going _anywhere_.”

“Sounds like you missed me,” Stiles murmurs, the warm, inviting corners of his mouth turning up into a soft smirk.

“Every day,” Derek says and he’s never meant anything more in his life. “Every damn day, Stiles.” They’ve only made it to the top of the sweeping staircase that dominates the mansion’s front foyer and there are plenty of guests who could see them if they looked up but when it comes to Stiles, Derek has always said fuck decorum. He yanks Stiles forward into a kiss that’s almost bruising and for the next few minutes, until Stiles pulls away red-faced and wet-lipped and panting for breath, Derek doesn’t think about anything that’s not related to the amazing man who’s pressed against him.

“So can I assume that I won’t be staying with my dad this week?” Stiles asks, his lips so close that Derek can feel them catch on his cheek with every word.

“I told the valet earlier that your bags were to be brought directly to my room,” Derek says and the grin that spreads across Stiles’ face is a thing of wicked beauty.

“Then we should get to your room, sooner rather than later. As in _now_ ,” Stiles says lowly, his hips brushing against Derek’s.

“You mean you’re not interested in hearing what your father has to report to my mother?” Derek teases, even though he's already pulling Stiles down the hallway that leads to his bedroom.

“He rehearsed his speech twelve times on the way here, I could recite every damn word of it,” Stiles groans. Suddenly, with no warning, he smacks Derek’s ass and Derek just barely manages to resist dragging Stiles into the nearest semi-dark corner and kissing him until he can’t breathe.

“Move faster. There’s some stuff in my bag that I think you’ll be _very_ interested in, and I want you to rip this damn suit off of me.”

Now _that’s_ a task Derek can commit to.

&.

By the time they finish getting reacquainted with each others bodies, the grandfather clock in the hallway outside Derek’s bedroom has already struck midnight. It’s officially Christmas and the palace is echoing with the horrid sound of a hundred intoxicated werewolves and humans singing Christmas carols. The noise makes Derek wince; he doesn’t know if it’s a genetic thing but werewolves (himself included) should _never_ sing, especially when the majority of them are drunk off their asses. 

When Derek comes back from washing his face, he pulls his suit trousers back on, pats the lump sitting in the left pocket and joins Stiles outside. He’s standing on the balcony attached to Derek’s bedroom, arms crossed on the railing, wearing only a loose pair of sweatpants. As much as Derek liked the suit, this is also a view he appreciates. More caroling is drifting up from the courtyard three stories below; beyond that, Derek can see the lights of Beacon Hills, twinkling like thousands of stars.

“You not going to join the choir, sweet werewolf prince?” If it was anyone else talking to him in such a mocking way, Derek would probably threaten their life. Instead, he simply growls and presses the tips of his fangs against the column of Stiles’ throat. Stiles just sighs and tilts his head to the side, granting access to even more skin but as much as it pains him, Derek stops himself from pressing bruising kisses against Stiles’ neck. Instead, he takes a moment to look out at the view, trying to ignore how jittery he feels. He always gets anxious before Stiles comes to visit but on this particular Christmas evening, there’s another reason why Derek’s stomach is absolutely knotted with nerves.

“You know, one day, all of this, all of that out there, it’s going to be mine,” he says. It’s only after he says the words that he realizes it sounds like he’s boasting but thankfully, Stiles doesn’t seem to take them that way. He simply hums quietly and presses back against Derek’s body when Derek leaves a trail of kisses up his neck and over the sharp line of his jaw. Derek stays there for a moment, nose pressed against where Stiles’ pulse is thrumming underneath his skin, inhaling his scent ( _their_ scent), trying to gather up the nerve he needs to spit out his next words.

“I want it to be yours too,” he finally murmurs. Stiles’ shoulders stiffen slightly and he turns around in the cage of Derek’s arms, eyes wide.

“What?” he asks quietly. Trying to hide his shaking fingers, Derek reaches into his pocket and pulls out the small ring box that’s he’s been carrying around for weeks.

“You don’t have to give me an answer yet,” he says, popping the box open and removing the ring from within it. It’s made of burnished black metal and there are three tiny alpha-red rubies set into it. On the inside, there’s a triskelion engraved into the otherwise unmarred metal; the one Derek had commissioned for himself (which is still in the ring box) has the Stilinski family crest carved into the inside.

“I want you by my side,” he says, holding the ring between his thumb and forefinger. “Whenever you’re ready, if you want to… Stiles, I want you to marry me.”

“Holy crap,” Stiles whispers, his eyes flicking back and forth between Derek’s face and the ring. “You’re not kidding.” His heartbeat is nearly deafening, almost completely drowning out the horrid carolers still singing in the courtyard below, yet when Derek shakes his head, it somehow gets even louder.

“Yes,” he says, so quiet that Derek can hardly hear him. “Fuck, oh my God, _yes_.” Derek slips the ring onto Stiles’ finger and when Stiles twists it, the light spilling out onto the balcony from the bedroom makes the rubies gleam.

“This is the best fucking Christmas present ever,” Stiles grins before wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck and pulling him into a sloppy, breathtaking kiss. Derek doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy, not in his entire life and even when he kisses Stiles back, he doesn’t stop grinning. He _can’t_ stop grinning.

“You know what I want to do first, after we get married?” he asks after he’s pulled away, still unable to believe that he actually gets to say the word aloud, that it isn’t just an abstract concept in his head anymore.

“What’s that?” Stiles pants, his hips arching up against Derek’s, already well on the way to being hard again.

“I want to fuck you in every room in this house. _Every_ room,” Derek murmurs, tightening his hands on Stiles’ waist, scraping his blunt human teeth over his earlobe.

“Maybe you should get started on that now,” Stiles groans, sliding his hands into Derek’s hair as Derek trails his mouth down Stiles’ neck and along the curve of his shoulder. “This place has a lot of rooms.”

“Well, we’ve already done the kitchen… and my room, obviously… and the dining room.” Derek could keep going; they’ve been together since Stiles was seventeen and in the five years that have passed since then, they’ve used a number of the mansion’s rooms for purposes they definitely weren’t designed for.

“But we _haven’t_ checked off this balcony.” Derek raises an eyebrow from where he’s now kneeling in front of Stiles, palms splayed against Stiles’ legs.

“I don’t think balconies are usually considered to be rooms. But I like that idea.” Stiles starts saying something else but his words quickly dissolve into a moan when Derek tugs his sweatpants down and presses his mouth against Stiles’ hip, dragging his stubble over skin that he marked up only an hour ago. When Stiles’ fingers weave into his hair, Derek can feel the cold metal of the ring pressing against his scalp and even though his mouth is otherwise occupied, he can’t help but grin again.

He thinks that, from now on, every day is going to feel like Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
